


In the interest of avoiding violence

by Ejunkiet



Series: The Reunion series [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Arguments, Conflicts of interest, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tension that had been building between Shepard and her ‘supposedly dead’ vigilante comes to a head, in the aftermath of a botched assassination. A fight - with words, this time. ME2, part of the 'Reunion series'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the interest of avoiding violence

### In the interest of avoiding violence

The green light of the door’s projected hololock cast light enough down the corridor for her to navigate it without the need for the ship’s full lighting (lowered in an arrangement with the ship’s AI to help the crews newest members adjust to Normandy time with the least lag). Mimicking the light cycle, at least in crew sleeping areas, was a trick she’d picked up from her parents, as first the whole family, and then just her and her mother, had moved from vessel to vessel. It had also been the subject of a persistent argument with her XO in the original Normandy. EDI, in comparison, had acquiesced easily enough.  
  
Her steps were muffled as she continued down the hallway, eyes narrowed at the open access before her, winking innocuously in the half light. This door that had remained _pointedly_ locked after her break in prior – in spite of her many attempts, and a small collection of omnitool upgrades that were ultimately useless – had been left _open_.

Shepard wasn’t so naïve to think that this was _EDI's_ work, granting her hard-working CO a small luxury aboard the Cerberus owned vessel. A quick glance at the sealed and locked door to life support made it clear it wasn’t the other guest of the crew hall – and her newest team member – stretching his legs, although she didn’t doubt that he’d be able to manage the task, if he put his mind to it.

No, this was less subtle, demonstrating a more _blatant disregard_ for the rules. _Someone_ else had managed to do what she hadn't been able to, and they weren't shy about it either.

Her hand slipped to her side automatically, fingering the handle of her weapon. Maybe some of the more tech minded of her Cerberus crew had some backbone after all, and did the impossible - but she doubted it. Withdrawing her weapon in a smooth motion, her fingers wrapped comfortably around the short handle of her pistol. If it had bested EDI, then she would take all the necessary precautions - and maybe, _just maybe_ , she wouldn't shoot them if they showed her how to best the locking mechanism.

Carefully removing her shoes, she padded down the corridor in only her socks, crouching to the side. The small pistol - discrete and light enough that she could carry it around in her civs without causing trouble aboard the ship - was diminutive within her hands, and she _missed_ her pulse rifle. God forbid they were attacked by a larger assault force, like a merc group. She held her breath at the threshold to the door, waiting as her omnitool scan revealed the area to be clean of any tracers or alarms, before she stepped forward and slammed the heel of her hand against the hololock.

Her weapon raised, sighting for a target, she closed in on the lit bar area, and the sole, illuminated figure, slumped against the bar in the otherwise empty room.

She _recognized_ that broad back of armor. The figure gave no sign of having recognised her entrance, and if it weren't for the clink of ice against glass, she would have thought he'd fallen asleep.  
  
_“_ Garrus?”

It'd been a week since she had seen him, let alone  _spoken_ to him. Not since the _incident_ on the Citadel. The hologram on the Main Gunnery had remained a persistent red, her upgrades wasted on the door before she'd gone searching for the starboard lounge, and a _drink_. Apparently, she wasn't the only one with that idea. She took another step into the room, and he made no movement to acknowledge her. “I didn't think I'd see you here.”

\--

  
"Shepard."

His three-fingered grip tightened around the glass, his head a tilted silhouette against the bright lighting of the bar, studiously inspected it, as if he were actually contemplating the contents.  
  
“You shouldn't be surprised. I'm here for the same reason as you.” He waved the glass, swirling the liquid dangerously as he sent her a glance over his shoulder. "I couldn't sleep. The cots here take a while to adjust to; they weren’t exactly built with a turian in mind, and accommodation in any ship is a little tight to begin with. Except, you wouldn’t know that, Commander."  
  
His voice was a tight growl into the mouth of his glass, directed at the bar in front of him. It was a petty shot - and Garrus would’ve have been the first to admit it (once) – and as he shifted in his seat, turning pointedly away from her, it was clear that fact didn’t escape him. His movements sent an elbow sweeping into a glass, sending it clinking into the small collection that had clustered at his elbow, all stained different colours. He gave a curse, yanking his arm back, only serving to send _another_ glass skittering off the side; but she was there, stooping to catch it before it shattered on the tile, replacing it on the bar with a tight clack that echoes the tension between them. 

She pushes her way onto a stool beside him at the bar, her tone frigid. “Well, I sure as hell don’t need the space, it’s all yours if you want it, Garrus. Didn’t figure you for a fish tank kind of guy.”  
  
Her eyes followed the line of his arm from where his hands played with the empty glass to the tight purse of his mandibles, his eyes flickering up to consider the drink cabinet. He didn’t dignify that with a response; instead reaching for an open bottle a little way up the bar, lifting it to pour in a glass, before pausing, and raising the entire thing to his mouth to take a long swig.  
  
“How _charitable_ of you, Shepard.” His tone was sardonic, as bitter as the liquor he was drinking, and before he could say something else he'd regret, he downed the glass. Her eyes narrowed at the movement, and after a seconds thought, he grabbed the bottle as well, turning in his seat to face the door. “Well, it's been nice. Good night, Shepard.”

His foot had hit the floor when her hand shot out, grabbing at his arm as she yanked him backwards, until they were face to face. The thought that _his wrists were narrow without his gauntlets_ registered, before he had torn away from her grip, his eyes meeting hers in a narrowed, vicious glare behind his visor. A low sound rolled through the air between them, and it took her a moment to realize it was _him,_ the tension evident in the sharp lines of his posture _._ She narrowed her eyes back at him, flexing a hand in case he decided to actually _do_ something about it.

A strained silence passed between them, neither of them quite willing to make the first move, and she let out a hiss. “ _Enough_ with the _bullshit_ , Garrus. I’m not going to sit here and take your crap. This isn’t like you. None of this is like you.”  
  
He paused, eyes flitting to her with a slack-jawed expression, mandibles lax against the sharp lines of his face. His eyes ran over her: fists clenched, posture tight as she shifted her stance, sharp lines and aggression  – and _spirits, what had happened to them?_ It had only been a week, and he could barely recognize the woman standing across from him. Could barely recognize _himself_.

When he spoke again, his voice was more subdued; the exhaustion that had been preying on him after a week of sleepless nights painfully evident as his voice flanged widely, giving away too much, and yet too little.

"'Like me', Shepard? This is _exactly_ like me. We killed Dr. Saleon _together_ \- I don't see how this can surprise you." His fists clenched, tightening around the bottle before he slammed it back onto the bar, the glass shattering against the surface. After a strained moment of silence, his eyes rose to hers again, angry, and so terribly _confused_ , desperate to _understand_ just what had happened. "Spirits, Shepard, you should have let me take the shot. What makes this-"  
  
"Garrus, you didn't kill Dr. Saleon."  
  
"-any different-" His tirade faltered, his eyes narrowing, the effects of the liquor he'd consumed liberally having a swooning effect that sent him stumbling back against the bar. He tried to focus on her as his control over his breathing faltered, making his next words a barely audible hiss. _"What?"_

“You did _not_ kill Dr. Saleon. I did.”  
  
His mandibles fell slack even, as his jaw tightened, as he was torn between confusion and anger. "What is your point?"  
  
"That wasn't an act of revenge. We were taking him in, and he drew a gun. _That_ was protocol. Carrying out a vigilante killing in the middle of the Citadel? That’s _stupidity_.”

"If you're trying to _piss me off_ Shepard, you're succeeding." The stare he gave her was long and hard, and her glare matched him equally. His hands were trembling with the rage that simmered beneath his skin, a writhing torrent of pent-up energy that _itched_ for release.

She shifted in her stance before him, her hands clenching loosely at her sides, and brought memories of another fight - her biotics pulsing as she held him down, slim fingers locking his wrists. A growl ripped from his chest, and his stance lowered, on the defensive. If it came to blows again, he would not be caught unawares.

" _My men deserve justice,_ Shepard."

He spat his words at her, mandibles flared wide in a sharp, turian sneer. She returned it with one of her own, eyes flashing at him in challenge as another low growl escaped his chest.

“ _Justice?_ So what next? What if you'd done it? Were you going to sacrifice yourself too?" Her commander facade slipped, her grip on her self-control slipping as the close-air of the room flared with the sudden burst of her biotics. It sent the air quivering, sparks and static electricity dancing along her skin. "Was that what you were doing on that balcony in Omega?"

The silence that spread between them was long, and if she'd cared to put a voice to her feelings at that moment, _painful_.

She hadn't meant to say that.

With that last comment, she had crossed the line, and possibly dashed their last chance for reconciliation. Commander Shepard, saviour of the galaxy, and complete lack of tact.

Glancing back, she caught Garrus examining the door, fingers wrapped tightly on the edges of the counter. In any case, there was no point trying to continue this conversation now.

“Look. Just… _look_.” She ran her hands through her hair, her fingers tangling with the strands to grip her scalp, her agitation physically manifesting itself as quivered, pacing the room. “This can’t continue. We’ve been dancing around each other for a week since the last mission, and there are only so many times I can use the ‘mining for resources’ excuse. I need you at my six, Garrus, and I need you _good_.”

Glancing back at his silent silhouette, she moved to the middle of the room, widening her stance and settling her weight, before taking in a deep breath. It was worth a shot. If anything, at least she could say she’d tried.

“Whatever it is you need, Garrus. I need you at my back, but I need you as a friend more.”

He turned sharply, his glare hard as he looked her up and down, focusing on her hands which had clenched into loose fists before her, before he seemed to deflate. His shoulders lowered, which made him seem… smaller. He let out a breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before it softened into a sigh, and he shook his head. “… _Shepard_. You have my respect, and you have my gun. I will gladly go into hell with you. _Anytime_.”

His eyes were fierce, before he broke away, raising a hand to massage his plates around his eyes. “I just need- _time_.”

“Let me help you.”

"... _How?_ " His stare hardened as she bounced on the balls of her feet, fists swinging loosely. "No."

"Why not?"

“You realise what you’re offering? You want - effectively - ‘ _tension release_ ’?”

Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, she returned the look with one of her own. “Hell, I could use it too. What, _scared_?”

His stare sharpened, narrowing as he glanced pointedly towards the door, an  implied _I can just walk out of here_. With a short, sharp grin, she shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

"You, for one. It could hurt _you_.”

"I’m made of strong stuff, Vakarian."

He was silent for a long while after that, thinking it over. Her hands clenched and unclenched, buzzing with too much energy to remain in fists, and just when she’d just come to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to get an answer, he turned and strode towards the door. Digging her teeth into her lip, she watched him, swallowing down hard on the rising lump in her throat as he reached the entryway, and her friend - her _only_ friend on this god damn vessel - turned his back on her. Trying to ignore the turmoil that unleashed, from her chest, she turned back towards the dimly bar, blinking hard. So this was it, then.

She needed a drink.

His voice rang out just when she had perched on a stool and was reaching for a glass, sending her body jolting forward in her seat. “Give me an hour.” She turned, and found his eyes on her, narrowed over his shoulder as he hovered on the threshold. His eyes were dark, in a pocket of shadow that managed to escape the fluorescent lighting of the ship, and it reminded her of a very different night. A glistening helmet that stared down the night from a sniper’s perch on a charred balcony, slow and methodical through his scope as picked off the scum of Omega.

“If you still want to… _well_. I’ll be waiting in the shuttle bay.”


End file.
